


Charity

by suafm



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 10:46:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17242853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suafm/pseuds/suafm
Summary: A little contribution for the old friend turns out to be a unique way to travel in time (or to get haunted by the past).





	Charity

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Post- 'Captain America: The Winter Soldier.'  
> 2) Natasha's a weird medley of comic and movie (and I like her that way).

Natasha is not sure whether it is unrest or hiraeth that brings her here; the last few days were a pit of hell.

She lands heavily, plunging her heels halfway into the moist dirt. The bag bounces of her hip.

The smell here might be charitably described as disgusting, with a slight overtone of deadly, but Natasha's Russian heritage is too long-forgotten to assimilate to Dostoevsky and wade through fancy epithets, so she wades through the mud instead.

The place is all fog and dampness, and Natasha wonders why someone would choose it as safe harbor, hence there is a cityful of heated basements and warehouses. ‘ _May be he doesn’t care_.’ she thinks absently, making her way through the bottleneck. ‘ _Or is it a force of habit?_ _I bet the cold soothes him_.’  
She shrudders with disgust and horror. Had she been less of Natasha she’d probably feel sympathy.

The noise—rustling, bit of panting—is what she perceives first, leaning around the corner. Then the picture softly comes through, featuring a tightly built man, leaning against the wall, almost huddling himself up in a corner.  
And yet Natasha had never seen Winter Soldier as vulnerable—probably, no one had, except for the Hydra quacks—she’s not led into error by his seeming brokenness. Moreover, she's well aware that the like delusions, a posteriori, come as a synonym of ‘die stupidly.’

The good news is that he seems to appraise her in a similar vein. They freeze for a moment, exhausting cloudlets of steam, pondering over the chances. If it comes to the fight, she's definitely more stable now—both emotionally and physically. But he seems more desperate—which is, by all means, a surefire nerve up. Besides, the Soldier knows a great weight of her moves. He taught her that, even though the associated memories vanished from his mind.

‘OK.’ he creaks, breaking the icy silence. ‘So you’ve found me. Congrats. The report: mission’s fucked up.’ 

‘I’m no Hydra.’ she objects hoarsely, sliding a little bit closer. ‘And I’m not here to kill you. As for now—’ she falters and goes silent for a moment, as he turns his face to her. ‘You look shot and killed,’ she mutters finally, and the stupid, inappropriate, hideous ‘you-should-have-seen-the-other-guy’ joke runs through her head. She has.

Natasha couldn’t really imagine Winter Soldier looking as bright as a new penny, but this was far beyond expectations.

 ‘You look...familiar,’ Winter Soldier replies after an awkward pause, and Natasha can swear he is a bit more relaxed than a second ago.

‘Any thoughts?’

She moves forward, as he dives into thinking. He’s like one of those weird 3D pictures, sold in the souvenir shops. You close your right eye, you see a monster. You close your left eye, you see a victim. You look with both eyes wide open, you see something totally different. It’s better not to look at all, but since she’s come here, it’s not that she has a choice.

Natasha’s ready to use her most humane tone to give Winter Soldier a clue of ‘ _You were trying to kill me_ ’, and the most happy one for ‘ _Multiple times_ ’, but he suddenly clears his throat.

‘I think we... _had it away_.’

It takes her a double take—and a deep breath. Why would someone expect anything different. He has always been a knock-out in human form.

‘Wow. Aren’t you a gentleman,’ she grins. ‘Modern guys usually pretend to have forgotten.’

‘We kind of liked each other, didn’t we?.. And then we fought.’

His voice is so blunt, that Natasha doubts if his memory still has connection to his emotions. Maybe those are just some ghosts from the past, he can’t carry anymore. She might add something to wake him up. Something like ‘ _And then you got frozen and electrocuted, as always from there on.’_ She walks up closer instead, a careless listener, a careful speaker.

‘Well. Assuming I’m still alive by your mercy...’ his cheeks hollow as he sucks in his breath. ‘ _He_ ’s fine, too.’

‘Both of you are as far from being fine as it is to the Moon. But yeah, he’s breathing.’

‘Did _he_ ask you?..’

‘Ask me what?’

Slowly, Natasha hunkers down, rockering back and forth. She examines his face, patiently waiting for the answer. Now, being so close, she can see the bruises, and the scars, and the scratches; they hardly bother him as much as the exhaustion, caused by his mind trying to get together from shatters, yet add to the overall picture. She stares at his _left arm:_ shiny metal through the torn jacket, making gentle rustling noises against the thick silence.

‘To find me.’ he breathes out, finally. ‘Did _Steve_ ask you to find me?’

‘You _do_ remember him now?’

‘No.’ his reaction is too quick, too four-o, perhaps; makes Natasha wink the other eye. ‘No. I’ve been to the museum. I’ve seen him—and Bucky Barnes.’

‘ _You_ are Bucky Barnes.’

The man, who is as far from _Bucky Barnes_ now, as the renowned forties’ marksman from making it through the WWII, shakes his head, and a moment later he is suddenly stiff.

‘ _You_ used to call me _James_.’

Natasha stands up, tilts her head to the left, than to the right, as if she stretches in slow motion.

‘I did. But that’s your name, too.’

‘My name is Winter Soldier,’ he whispers stubbornly, hardly having heard her. It seems, that for one brisk moment he gets unconscious; now, this might be dangerous. Or fun. Or both. Natasha keeps silent for a bit, making sure, she’s not in trouble, then makes a quiet remark. She needs to lead him away from the edge, otherwise they'll both fall.

‘People call me Black Widow, too. But I am Natasha Romanova. Steve is Captain America, _the_ Captain, but he is also... you know, _Steve_. A fellow you grew up with. We’re all playing some drama here, you’re not the only one, wearing mask.’

‘If you are trying to help, _don’t_.’ he sounds as he looks—dead behind the eyes. Natasha wonders whether he _wants_  to remember at all. And then, suddenly, Winter Soldier livens up, turning back into something resebling a human being. ‘It smells weird.’

‘What?’

‘Smells food.’

His left arm rustles.

‘Oh!’ Natasha shakes her head indignantly, then reaches for her bag. ‘Silly me, forgot all about it. Here, I got you something.’

It’s not much. Something he could digest: Natasha strongly doubts, that Hydra provided him with proper solid food; his cryopreserved intestine would hardly be able to perceive it, anyway.

A glass jar, full of chicken broth, still warm; protein shakes; some veggy oil. Clean water. Pain killers, several kinds.

‘This... Should keep you alive for a bit.’

Winter Soldier takes it with gratitude, no one would expect from the former Fist of Hydra. Takes a careful sip of stock.

‘Pierce dead?’ he asks.

‘Positive.’

‘Rumlow?’

‘Negative. This doesn’t really matter. They won’t look for you.’

Winter Soldier smiles—his grin looks, well, lunatic, to say the least. Blue eyes look flat.

‘Natasha. Hydra is _everywhere_. This is a local black out. I have to run and crack down on the rest before the news reach them.’

‘Cool your jets, would you? You are no fighter, until you get yourself together.’

‘I’ll take them one by one, from behind the cover, if that’s what it takes.’ he grins. ‘Should there be one thing I can believe about my past, that'd be this Bucky-boy used to be way worse a marksman, than I am. This is my mission now.’

‘What if you fail?’ Natasha tries to sound indifferent.

‘I have nobody to report to now, remember?’

This sounds so natural, so _almost happy_ , that Natasha can’t find any words of objection. She remembers being unleashed. She knows, what it takes to get used to freedom. She is firm, that the one who wants to save the world, even though for the sake of revenge, should go for it.

‘Where will you head first?’

‘Donno,’ he shrugs.

‘I ain’t going to tell him—or anyone else.' she explains in a tranquil voice, then adds. 'I don’t report, either.’

‘Then why you even bother?’

‘Let’s see. You are the ghost of my past, who was trying to kill my future. I guess, it’s significant for me.’

He stares at the food, she brought, keeping dead silence. Natasha even thinks he dozed off with his eyes widely open.

‘Look,’ she rubs her temples, feeling the early prodromes of severe headache. ‘I think you deserve to watch every Hydra-addict die in pain. I’ve seen your dossier, I know, what you’ve been through. But _Steve_ deserves to know, too. If you ask me, the whole world should— _ought to_ —know. But anyway, once he is aware of the chance to save _Bucky_ , he will find you, even if the whole world stands up to him. Even if you stand up to him.’

‘That we've figured out,’ he retorts sharply. 

‘From what I see, you might or might not come round soon. Do you prefer to do it on a date with Hydra, or with someone who can reconcile you to the rea—’

‘That's _sweet_. Should I be somebody else’s dead friend, yet,’ Winter Soldier blurts out, ‘You two would gladly kill me. What’s the point?’

‘The point is that there’s no “ _if_ ”.’

Very slowly, he lifts his head, glancing up. Shaky and steady; broke down and coiled. Natasha locks her eyes with him, and the weird, long-forgotten feeling overwhelms her.

There were innumerable ‘ _if-s_ ’ to his life. She should now, she is the same. This is what led them to the future they have now; the numerous stipulations, imposed by others. Time to stick to reality.

‘Europe, may be.’

‘...What?’

‘Rumania or so. I’ve heard there is a cute little snake pit. Hydra’s hatching unit.’

‘Oh,’ Natasha is equally fascinated and disgusted by his macabre sense of humor. ‘Well. My number is in the memo book, you’ll find in the bag. You know... Just in case.’

He hems, before coming up with an answer.

‘I hope there’s a food delivery number just next to it.’

Natasha nods, ready to leave this cold, dump place. She feels somewhat weird. Not that she doubts his abilities to make through whatever he is put. At long last, they are cut of the same cloth.

She is trying to make her leave less awkward, so she heads to the exit swiftly and silently, leaving her final request, savoring of command.

‘Don’t you dare to die, James. Not again.’

He chuckles, and this is clearly a sign of emotion.

 

When Natasha gets out, her hands are trembling with cold, her eyes are glittering with tears, her lips are sore with smiling.

But for one bitter moment, before facing the bizarre reality, she is sixteen, and deeply untroubled.


End file.
